


Santa's Workshop

by okapi



Series: Many Times, Many Ways (the Christmas fics) [16]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Advent Calendar, Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Belts, Christmas Crack, Christmas Smut, Cock Warming, Crack, Elf Moriarty, Elf Mycroft, Elf Sherlock, Exhibitionism, Fluff, M/M, Masturbation, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Oral Sex, Orgy, Paddling, Pony Play, Public Sex, Santa Lestrade, Spanking, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:35:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 10,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21806749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okapi/pseuds/okapi
Summary: Santa-Lestrade & his merry gang. Cracky Christmas smut. Chapters 1-10 are from 2019.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Sebastian Moran/Jim Moriarty, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Many Times, Many Ways (the Christmas fics) [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/361097
Comments: 73
Kudos: 67
Collections: 2019 Advent Ficlet Challenge, 2020 Advent Ficlet Challenge, Mystrade Holiday 2019





	1. A Stressed Elf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Santa-Lestrade helps Elf-Mycroft relax. Mystrade. Masturbation.

“How are things going in the workshop today?” asked Santa-Lestrade as he stroked his short white beard and leaned back in his chair and shifted the bowl half-full of jelly about his waist. Eleven months out of the year he was a rather normal-looking fellow, but from the first day of December, his body began to take on its Christmas Eve shape.

Elf-Mycroft wiped his brow with a square of green cambric. He shook his head at the printout attached to his clipboard and tut-tutted.

“Not well. Productivity is not what it should be this close to the big day. We are not meeting our numbers. Elf-Sherlock and Elf-Jim are hopelessly inefficient. They seem keener on creating booby-traps for each other than toys for children! But Elf-Stamford did find me a locum, and Elf-John seems to be working out fine.”

Santa-Lestrade nodded.

Elf-Mycroft looked up. “Santa?”

“Yes?”

Elf-Mycroft pointed to empty spot on the wall. “The portrait of Mrs. Claus?”

Santa-Lestrade sighed. “She took it with her last night when she ran away with Sven the reindeer groom.”

Elf-Mycroft eyes widened, and his pointed ears twitched. “I’m so sorry, Santa.”

“It’s been a long time coming. I wish her well.” He eyed Elf-Mycroft thoughtfully as the elf wiped his brow once more and nervously tucked the cambric in the pocket of his green tunic. “Don’t worry, Mycroft. It will all get done and done well. It always does.”

“I don’t know, Santa…”

“Come sit on Santa’s lap.”

Elf-Mycroft’s eyes lit, and he quickly set the clipboard aside.

When he was perched on Santa-Lestrade’s thigh, Santa-Lestrade said,

“Tell Santa what you want for Christmas. And don’t fib. Santa will know.”

Elf-Mycroft turned pink and said as if reading aloud, “A happy Christmas for all the good children of the world is gift enough, Santa.”

“We all want that,” said Santa-Lestrade. “But what do you want? You can whisper it in my ear if it’s very naughty.”

Elf-Mycroft leaned in and shielded his mouth with his hand and whispered.

Santa-Lestrade nodded, then pulled away. “Now, see, that wasn’t so difficult.”

Elf-Mycroft fidgeted.

“Why don’t you take a break, Mycroft? Go to the canteen and have tea and ginger biscuits.”

“Oh, no. I can’t take a break. There’s too much work to do.”

Santa-Lestrade frowned and stroked his beard. “You have a list of things to do.”

Elf-Mycroft nodded to the clipboard. “Two pages long!”

“Well, I have a task I’d like you to put at the top of the list. Priority, you understand, then you can go about the rest of your day.”

“Of course, Santa-Lestrade. Anything you say is priority will go to the top of the list.”

“All right. Hop down.” Elf-Mycroft slid off Santa-Lestrade’s leg. Then Santa-Lestrade opened the drawer of a small table which stood beside his chair. He removed a jar, then shut the drawer. Then he unscrewed the lid of the jar and placed jar and lid on the table.

“Now, listen carefully to all my instructions,” said Santa-Lestrade.

Elf-Mycroft nodded.

“First, I want you to stand here,” Santa-Lestrade indicated the space before the table, “then I want you to pull down your tights to about here,” he indicated on himself a position at mid-thigh, “then slick your left palm with this mistletoe salve. Then I want you to hold up your tunic with your right hand and close your eyes and think of your Christmas wish.”

Elf-Mycroft didn’t hesitate, and soon Santa-Lestrade was ogling a gorgeous half-hard elf prick.

“Now, make your prick nice and stiff for Santa. Spread your legs a bit wider. Yeah, that’s it. Perfect.”

Santa-Lestrade congratulated himself. He’d been right: underneath his well-ironed tunic, Elf-Mycroft was hung like a reindeer. The very sight of that prick, long, thick, beefy pink, made Santa-Lestrade’s mouth water. And the way Elf-Mycroft was stroking it, while thinking of very naughty things, indeed, that boded very well, too.

“That’s right. Up and down. Up and down. Squeeze. Beautiful. This is a very important task, and you’re doing it so well. Santa’s so pleased. There’s no one he trusts more than you when there’s a very important work to be done.”

Santa-Lestrade felt his own prick stir as he watched Elf-Mycroft’s chest puff with pride and his mouth drop open in a rather perfect little O.

“Oh, oh, oh, Santa?”

Suddenly, Elf-Mycroft looked distressed.

“Yes? What’s wrong? You’re doing magnificent.”

“I don’t want to soil my tunic, and I’m so very close to doing so.”

Well, here was an opportunity not to be wasted.

“Why don’t you come in Santa-Lestrade’s mouth? Then you won’t soil anything.”

Elf-Mycroft’s eyes widened, and he nodded eagerly.

Santa-Lestrade gently slid to the rug, it wasn’t so easy with the December belly, and knelt before Elf-Mycroft with his mouth hanging open.

Elf-Mycroft shoved his prick in Santa-Lestrade’s mouth rather clumsily, but neither that nor the bitter taste of the slick diminished Santa-Lestrade’s pleasure. He would be remembering this for a long while: the feel of Elf-Mycroft’s prick in his mouth and the taste of elfin spunk coating the back of his throat.

“Thank you, Mycroft. Do you feel better?”

Mycroft’s eyes were glazed. He swayed in his bell-tipped, pointed shoes and looked like he was about to faint.

Well, that wouldn’t do.

“Mycroft! Pull yourself together!”

Elf-Mycroft snapped out of his fog.

“Yes, sir, sorry, sir,” he said. He yanked up his tights and grabbed his clipboard.

“Back to work,” said Santa-Lestrade in a stern voice. “And I want to see better numbers by close of business.”

“Yes, sir!”

Santa-Lestrade watched him go, wondering if the arse beneath the tunic was as lovely as the prick.

Probably.

There was a lot to do and so many maddening problems to solve and not much time before the big day. Nevertheless, it never hurt to take a break now and then and boost morale. His own as well as others. Santa-Lestrade spared a final thought for Elf-Mycroft’s gorgeous prick and then returned to work.


	2. Ashes and Soot.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What to do about the lump of coal, Elf-Jim? Brief paddling (Sherlock). Otherwise, no smut.
> 
> For MissDavisWrites' 2019 Advent Calendar Challenge: Day Seven: Ashes and Soot.

“Ten?”

“Ten.”

Santa-Lestrade preferred a paddle to his hand. It made a more festive colour he thought, and no one’s bare bottom looked more festive than Elf-Sherlock’s after ten of Santa’s juiciest.

Santa-Lestrade gave the holly-berry-red cheeks one last admiring look, then said,

“That’s enough. Off you go.”

Without a word, Sherlock pulled up his tights and pulled down his tunic. He gave Santa-Lestrade a nod then let himself be ushered out the side door to Santa’s office by Elf-Sally.

Santa-Lestrade made a note to ask Elf-Mycroft what had his brother so distracted. Normally, Elf-Sherlock liked his punishment as much as he liked dispensing it.

Thoughts of Elf-Sherlock were soon pushed out of Santa-Lestrade’s head, however, by the sight of his archnemesis, Elf-Jim, being led into the office by the front door.

Santa-Lestrade knew it was Elf-Jim because that was who he was expecting, but really the figure that stepped into the room was more of a silhouette or a shadow of an elf.

Elf-Jim was covered from the point of his cap to the point of his slipper with a thick layer of ashes and soot.

Santa-Lestrade hid his shock by reading the report that Elf-Mycroft had passed him earlier.

“A prank?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” said Elf-Jim curtly. Amidst the grey-black, there was a flash of white teeth, and the whites of Jim’s eyes positively oozed with ire.

One very angry elf! And that wouldn’t do this close to Christmas.

“But perhaps it was retaliation for something yesterday having to do with reindeer dung?” said Santa-Lestrade.

Elf-Jim smirked, and the ire in his gaze was replaced with undisguised pride.

Santa-Lestrade read more of the report and scratched his head. There was an issue with truancy from the workshop as well.

What to do, he mused, what to do, what to do with this incorrigible lump of coal?

And that was when Santa-Lestrade had an idea.

“Jim, I think your talents are wasted in the main workshop.”

The look in Elf-Jim’s eyes told Santa-Lestrade he wasn’t alone in that thought.

“In the main workshop, we make toys for all the good little girls and boys, but there are other children in the world, too.”

“The bad ones?” asked Elf-Jim eagerly.

“No child is bad, Jim,” said Santa-Lestrade quickly. “But some of them act naughty more often than not.”

Elf-Jim’s expression, if it could be distinguished, suggested that he empathised whole-heartedly.

“I think we should convert the old long barn into a workshop for toys for those children. And you should be in charge of it.”

Elf-Jim’s eyes lit with excitement. “Yes, sir!”

“Now, you’ll have numbers to meet just like the main workshop and you can pick your workers from the elf pool. Everyone, except of course, Elf-Sherlock.”

Elf-Jim nodded.

“We can work on getting your space set up and the equipment in place this afternoon, and you can start work tomorrow. Before all that, however, you need a bath.”

Elf-Jim grumbled.

“Oh, it won’t be that bad. C’mon.”


	3. Warm Bath.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Santa-Lestrade supervises Jim's bath at the hands of the new reindeer groom, Sebastian. Oral. Anal. 
> 
> For MissDavisWrites' 2019 Advent Calendar Challenge: Day 8: Warm Bath.

“Sebastian!” called Santa-Lestrade when he and Elf-Jim reached the stables.

“Yes, sir?”

The new reindeer groom strode out to greet them. He was smiling but obviously trying not to laugh at the ashes-and-soot-encrusted Elf-Jim.

Santa-Lestrade turned to explain the situation. Then he saw something he’d never seen before, something, quite frankly, he never expected to see:

Elf-Jim, beneath his coating of filth, was blushing.

Ho, ho, ho! thought Santa-Lestrade.

Then he got down to business.

“Seb, we need a large tub of warm water, soap, some sponges, a hose, and a few minutes of your time. Meet us by the gate leading to the long barn.”

“You got it,” said Seb.

* * *

Seb was bending over the tub as Elf-Jim stripped out of his clothes.

“All right. In you go,” said Santa-Lestrade. “Seb, please scrub him within an inch of his life.”

“You just stand there,” said Sebastian. “Let me do the work, and I’ll have you squeaky clean, top to bottom.”

Elf-Jim merely grunted as he stepped into the tub.

True to his word, Sebastian was thorough. He started with Elf-Jim’s face, then moved on to his hair. Elf-Jim’s shoulders relaxed, and his expression softened as Sebastian’s fingers massaged his scalp.

Santa-Lestrade shot Sebastian a look that was not lost on the groom. He lingered on Jim’s head, shampooing and rinsing it thoroughly before moving southward.

Santa-Lestrade envied Elf-Jim when Sebastian applied the coarse sponge to the elf’s back. He wouldn’t mind a nice scratching himself.

The water in which Elf-Jim stood became thick and murky as the layers of ashes and soot were removed.

Seb used the hose to rinse him off.

Chest, belly, legs, and feet.

Elf-Jim was looking at Seb now, studying him with that intense gaze of his. And, oddly enough, Seb was not disconcerted in the least.

Ho, ho, ho, thought Lestrade.

“Every nook and cranny, Seb.”

“Yes, sir.”

The sponges were exchanged for a flannel when Seb finally began to wash between Elf-Jim’s legs.

When all of Elf-Jim could say to be clean, Seb stopped, he was still on his knees, and looked up. Elf-Jim looked down and nodded.

Seb turned his head and looked at Santa-Lestrade, who fished a jar of mistletoe salve out of the pocket of his coat. He tossed it to Seb, who caught it and winked.

“I’m going to take these dirty clothes to the laundry and return with some fresh ones,” said Santa-Lestrade.

When he returned, Seb was still on his knees, but now he had a mouth full of elf prick, and Elf-Jim’s face was a mask of pure ecstasy.

“Put your tunic on, Jim,” said Santa-Lestrade.

Elf-Jim stepped out of the tin tub and took the tunic that Santa-Lestrade proffered.

“Sebastian, I have to say I’m very pleased. You’ve only been with my merry gang a few days, but already you seem to be fitting in quite well. And taking on a surprise task like this, a bit unorthodox, I’ll admit, without a complaint and doing it in so fine a fashion, well, I think that deserves a reward. Is there anything you fancy especially? For example, I could have Mrs. Hudson fix you something to eat in the canteen.”

Seb cocked his head in consideration as he emptied the tub and rinsed it out. Then he assembled the sponges and soaps and other equipment. Finally, he cast a look Elf-Jim and said,

“If my new friend is amenable, of course, I wouldn’t mind buggering his arse.”

Santa-Lestrade didn’t have to ask Elf-Jim what he thought of the proposition: the elf was already hiking up the back of his tunic and bending over, bracing his hands on the middle rung of the gate.

Santa-Lestrade hung the rest of Elf-Jim’s clean clothes over the fence and took up a viewing place leaning against the gate post.

Using the mistletoe salve, Sebastian prepped Elf-Jim’s hole with two fingers. He was quick about it and perhaps a bit rougher than Santa-Lestrade himself might have been, but, judging by Elf-Jim’s blissful expression, there was no complaint on the receiver’s end.

In no time, Sebastian was unfastening his jeans and freeing his erection.

Ho, ho, ho!

Santa-Lestrade couldn’t help it. He gave a long, loud wolf whistle, which had the effect of starting Elf-Jim out of his lust fog. The elf turned sharply and looked behind him…

…at the best-looking prick Santa-Lestrade had ever seen.

Big, thick, pink. Head, shaft, base. Perfect, really. It was the kind that was usually seen in pornographic magazines.

“Oh,” breathed Elf-Jim.

Oh, indeed.

“I must say you’ve got one nice candy cane on you, Mister Moran,” said Santa-Lestrade. “You know, it’s a bit hot out here,” he lied. “You’re more than welcome to make yourself comfortable.”

Sebastian just chuckled and unbuttoned his shirt and let it hang open.

Bless my Christmas biscuits! thought Santa-Lestrade. The reindeer groom had the torso of an Adonis: hard muscle and fine downy hair and rosy-brown nipples and…

“Fuck me, you bastard!” barked Elf-Jim, and for once, Santa-Lestrade forgot to scold him for his language.

But the groom hadn’t forgotten.

“That’s no way to talk to people, Jim,” said Sebastian. “Say ‘please.’”

“Oh, all right, would you please fuck me, please?” sang Elf-Jim.

Santa-Lestrade could hardly believe it. This groom was something special, indeed.

The prick was just as beautiful in action. So was the body. Elf-Jim’s blissful expression returned.

And when it was over, Santa-Lestrade thought he might need a cold shower.

He took up the jar of mistletoe salve and dropped it in his pocket.

“All right. Get cleaned up and dressed, both of you, and be back to work in fifteen minutes. I want to see you, Jim, in the long barn to talk about this new venture. If you keep up your numbers and I get no more complaints, then you can spend your breaks wherever you wish.” Down in the hay if I know anything about anything, added Santa-Lestrade to himself.

“Yes, sir.”

“Yes, sir."


	4. Once a year.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Santa-Lestrade take a moment for himself. Masturbation. Exhibitionism/voyeurism. 
> 
> For MissDavisWrites' 2019 Advent Calendar Day 10: Once a year.

It was a good thing that Christmas only came once a year, thought Santa-Lestrade. The hours of work were getting longer as the hours of daylight got shorter, and he, Santa, was getting bigger and slower. It was after midnight when he dropped the last report of the day on his desk, rubbed his eyes, and decide to call it a night.

He walked past the main workshop and gave the night shift a wave, noting that Elf-Sherlock was still there. He’d been on the day shift, too. Santa-Lestrade made another note to talk to Elf-Mycroft about him in the morning.

The call of bungalow and bed were strong, but another call was stronger. Santa-Lestrade decided to take a detour to the thermal springs for a dip. After all, he should take his own often-dispensed advice: a break to recharge the batteries was a necessity not a luxury.

He made his way carefully to the thermal springs. The path was lit, but there were some patches of ice which were devilishly difficult to see. He made a note to tell Elf-Mycroft to see that the path was cleared and re-salted in the morning.

* * *

Santa-Lestrade sighed as he sank into the hot water up to his neck.

So good for tired bones!

He tried to put the business of the day out of his mind and focus his attention on the quiet noises of the natural world around him.

* * *

Revived and relaxed, Santa-Lestrade finally pushed himself out of the water and up onto the bench surrounding the pool. His belly was a three-quarters bowl of jelly now. Not yet full but making itself known all the same. His white beard, too, was longer and fluffier.

He stretched out upon the wooden bench and looked up at the stars, letting the steam from the waters protect him from the cold night air.

Oh, why not?

He leaned over and found the mistletoe salve in the pocket of his robe.

He slicked his palm and spread his legs and reached, much more of a reach, he had to admit, and took his prick in hand.

He closed his eyes and thought of Elf-Mycroft’s prick. He thought of Elf-Sherlock’s bottom. He thought of the chest and prick of the new reindeer groom, Sebastian, and how the groom had buggered Elf-Jim half out of his mind.

Santa-Lestrade lifted his hips off the bench and reached, once again, a great reach, and found his perineum and stroked it with a finger as he stroked his prick. He pumped his hips up and came, spitting like a fountain into a bank of snow beyond.

Then Santa-Lestrade closed his eyes and pretended not to hear the series of noises that he definitely heard: a muffled groan, a rustling, a couple of steps, a stifled cry of surprise, a soft thud, a whispered ‘Ouch,’ and then scurrying growing fainter.

Christmas may only come once a year but, thankfully, her servants were not so constrained, Santa-Lestrade thought, with a smile.


	5. Not a creature was stirring. (Gen.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A case involving a missing Rudolph and a dead groom brings Elf-Sherlock and Elf-John together. Johnlock. Gen. 
> 
> The plot is from the Sherlock Holmes canon story "Silver Blaze." 
> 
> For MissDavisWrites' Advent Calendar Day 14: Not a creature was stirring.

Santa-Lestrade pretended he didn’t see the sliver of bandage peeking out from Elf-Mycroft’s cap.

“Sit down, Mycroft. I want to talk about your brother.” He tapped the report that Mycroft had just handed him. “These number are extraordinary, and normally, at this point, I would be all in favour of any elf who wanted to burn the midnight oil, but I’m concerned about your brother’s wellbeing. He can’t keep doing shift after shift with no rest. So, what in the name of all the boughs of holly is going on with him?”

Elf-Mycroft sighed and set his clipboard on the desk. “The simple answer is Elf-John. Sherlock is smitten with him.”

Santa-Lestrade frowned. “I don’t follow. Wouldn’t an infatuation, as incredible as it sounds in relation to your brother, make him less productive?”

“At first, perhaps, but when Sherlock finally got up the courage to talk to John, he fell back on the familiar and did one of his famous deductions—about John.”

“Oh,” said Santa-Lestrade with a knowing nod. “I take it John didn’t like it?”

“Just the opposite. John loved it! He heaped tons of praise on Sherlock. It was a Christmas miracle.”

“But?”

“But it also happened to be the moment that Elf-Jim’s bag of reindeer dung burst. Its contents fell on Sherlock. Outside the canteen. In front of all and sundry.” 

“Oh, no!”

Elf-Mycroft shook his head ruefully. “Sherlock was mortified and spent the next two days plotting revenge—and completely ignoring John.”

“Huh.” Santa-Lestrade stroked his beard thoughtfully. “But Sherlock and John patched things up?”

“They did. Sherlock rebuffed John’s efforts, but John persisted and finally won Sherlock over by expressing a desire to see his laboratory.”

“Oh, the one I forbid Sherlock to use until after Christmas?”

“That’s the one. Without much preamble, Sherlock demonstrated the results of his latest experiment in atomized mistletoe.”

“And?”

“And, unfortunately, John’s very allergic to mistletoe.”

“Oh, no!” Santa-Lestrade smacked a white-gloved hand to his face, then he reached for a pen. “I must make a note of that. So, go on.”

“John was very ill and, in fact, in the infirmary for two days. Sherlock was not only embarrassed; he also felt compelled by guilt to pick up John’s slack and then some. They haven’t spoken a word to each other since John’s return to work. John seemed thoroughly perplexed. I don’t think he would know what to say even if Sherlock gave him the opportunity to speak.”

“But John’s all right?”

“On light duty for the next two days, but yes.”

Santa-Lestrade hummed. “What’s your opinion of this romance? Worth saving?”

“In all honesty, I think John could be the making of Sherlock.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Well, nothing occurs to me now, but I’ll give the situation some thought. Maybe there’s something that can bring these two together, force them to talk to each other, and put the past behind them.” Santa-Lestrade exhaled. “But it may have to wait until after Christmas.” He turned to the report. “Oh, before I forget, I want you to put a team on clearing the paths. The ice…”

“…is very treacherous! I’ve already done so, sir.”

“Good job.”

* * *

The following morning Santa-Lestrade’s early morning toilette was interrupted by a shout from Elf-Anthea.

“Santa, please! Come quick!”

“Where? What’s the matter?”

“Stables! He’s going to kill ‘im!”

Santa-Lestrade hurried into his boots and coat and arrived at the stables just in time to stop a groom named Ross from impaling Sebastian with a pitchfork. Four more grooms were holding Sebastian down.

“It was you!” cried Ross. “Where is he?”

“Let go of me, you bastards,” growled Sebastian.

“Stop! What’s going on?” said Santa-Lestrade.

“He stole Rudolph and killed Straker!” explained Ross.

“Rudolph’s gone?” asked Santa-Lestrade with alarm. Grooms, even head grooms like Straker, could be replaced easier than lead reindeers with genetically bestowed fog lights.

“Yeah, and Straker’s dead. Down in the valley. Blow to the head and a nasty little knife wound. You like a little knife, don’t you, Moran?”

“So does you mom!” Seb hissed. “But It wasn’t me!”

“Then where were you last night?” pressed Ross.

“In the fields with your sweetheart, that lame ewe; she sends her regards but says Saturday night’s off.”

“Oh, you piece of shit!”

Ross lunged. Santa-Lestrade blocked him.

“Nobody saw anything or heard anything?” asked Santa-Lestrade. “Toby didn’t put up a fight?”

Santa-Lestrade cast a glance at the spaniel, who whimpered and looked shame-faced.

“That blighter put something in the mutton curry!” said Ross, pointing at Sebastian. “Everybody was out like lights.”

“Toby didn’t have any mutton. But he didn’t bark, either,” remarked one of the grooms who was holding Sebastian.

“You hated Straker, Moran,” said another groom, “because he knew you cheated at cards.”

“I only cheat because you do, Adair.” Sebastian turned his head and blew an air-kiss at Adair. 

“Let go of him,” said Santa-Lestrade, waving at the grooms. They released Sebastian. He got to his feet.

By this time, Elf-Mycroft had arrived. “Santa? If I might make a suggestion…”

Santa-Lestrade turned to him. “Go to the canteen. Tell John what’s happened and that I need him to come at once and investigate this.”

“John?” questioned Elf-Mycroft. “But Sherlock…”

“DID I STUTTER?!” roared Santa-Lestrade, unleashing a fury rarely seen.

Mycroft jumped, then went pale and even quivered a bit. As did everyone at the scene, including Toby.

“John’s on light duty. Sherlock’s not,” growled Santa-Lestrade. “And that’s the last time I waste breath explaining myself. Do it! Now!”

“Yes, sir,” squeaked Mycroft. He scurried away.

Santa-Lestrade turned to the grooms. “Sebastian, you’re confined to your bunk until further notice. Ross, show me everything.”

“Yes, sir.”

* * *

“Uh, Santa?”

Santa-Lestrade looked up from Rudolph’s stall.

“Hullo, John. We’ve got a bit of a mess on our hands.”

“Yeah, Mycroft told me.”

Suddenly, there was an interruption.

“Santa, you can’t let John do this by himself!” cried Elf-Sherlock.

“Sherlock, you’re needed on the bench.”

“Any idiot elf can make toys! I am the only one who can…”

“Hey,” said Elf-John, scowling. “I’m not an idiot.”

“And he was in the army,” said Santa-Lestrade.

“But, but, can I help? Please?” begged Elf-Sherlock.

“I’ll give you one day,” said Santa-Lestrade gravely. “You’re back on the bench in the morning. Your assignment is simple: get Rudolph back and find out who killed Straker—in that order! Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” they replied.

Santa-Lestrade marched back to his office. He might have been more pleased with himself at killing two birds with one stone if he weren’t facing the staggering prospect of acquiring a new lead reindeer just a few days before Christmas!

* * *

“…then there was the ‘not a creature was stirring’ clue,” said Elf-John. He glanced over his shoulder at Elf-Sherlock who gave a minute but encouraging nod. “That’s is, Toby didn’t stir. Or bark. Or anything. That meant whoever took Rudolph was someone that Toby knew and trusted. Then there was the knife. It was obvious to me that it was a scalpel, that is, a surgical knife. I was a medic elf in the army.” Elf-John quirked a soft smile. “The wound on Straker’s head was consistent with a kick from a shod hoof. Straker was planning to nick Rudolph’s tendon so that you would be forced to find a substitute. He practised on a sheep first. He drugged the grooms, took Rudolph far from camp so that there wouldn’t be witnesses, When Straker bent to perform the act, Rudolph, sensing the danger, protected himself. Straker fell on his own blade. Frightened, Rudolph took off into the woods.”

“Why would Straker do this? He’s worked here for years.” said Santa-Lestrade.

“Gambling debts. And I don’t know if you’re aware,” Elf-John looked again at Elf-Sherlock, “but Straker’s sister is married to Krampus.”

A gasp went through the gathered crowd, which was everyone in the camp, but Sebastian.

“Krampus!” exclaimed Lestrade. “I would’ve had to get a replacement from his shop.”

“And he would’ve been able to name his price,” said Elf-John.

“And bankrupt us,” said Santa-Lestrade.

“Or stop Christmas from coming. Frankly, I think he’s amendable to either end,” said John.

“And Rudolph?” asked Santa-Lestrade.

“Here he is,” announced Sebastian, leading the reindeer by a lead. “He’s had quite the adventure with a herd of red deer in the woods, but I think he’s ready to come home now that he understands he’s not in trouble.”

“More like the prodigal son!” cried Santa-Lestrade striding toward Rudolph with raised arms. “It wasn’t your fault,” he added with an avuncular pat of Rudolph’s head. “Not at all. And we are so happy to have you back safely.”

The crowd cheered, and Rudolph’s nose lit.

“Thank you, Elf-John, for your help in clearing this up.”

“But—,“ protested Elf-John.

Santa-Lestrade didn’t allow him to finish. “Now, everyone, back to work. Christmas is coming!”

* * *

Later, in Santa-Lestrade’s office, Elf-John said,

“Santa, Elf-Sherlock did most of the investigation. Honestly, I just held his coat.”

“You knew about the scalpel. You figured out what Straker was intending to do with it,” said Elf-Sherlock quietly.

Elf-John continued without acknowledging the interruption. “Sherlock was also essential to the plan to recover Rudolph. He, uh, wore antler and a suit and infiltrated the herd.”

“Really?” said Santa-Lestrade. “Pity there weren’t phots of that.”

“John was the one who convinced Rudolph to return voluntarily,” said Elf-Sherlock. “I just distracted him so that Sebastian could apply the lead in case we had to use force.”

“Sounds like you two make a good team,” said Santa-Lestrade. “Take the rest of the day off, both of you. John, have you been down to the skate pond?”

“No,” Elf-John blushed. “I don’t skate.”

Santa-Lestrade’s eyebrows rose. “You don’t like it?”

“No, it isn’t that. I don’t know how.”

“Well, today’s your lucky day. Sherlock’s a wonderful skater. He’ll teach you. What do you say, Sherlock?”

“If John would like to…” He looked nervously at Elf-John.

Elf-John smiled. “That’d be nice.”

Santa-Lestrade clapped his hands together. “Splendid. Off you go. Stop by the canteen and get a picnic supper from Mrs. Hudson and make an evening of it but bright and early at the bench tomorrow.”

* * *

“And?” prompted Santa-Lestrade as he headed back to his bungalow much, much later that night.

“And,” said Elf-Mycroft, trotting behind him with clipboard in hand, “he gave Sherlock a sweet kiss on the cheek and said, ‘Good night.’”

Santa-Lestrade whooped. “A real mystery and a reconciled romance in one day! I like it!”

Elf-Mycroft smiled and nodded. “It’s exceedingly gratifying, sir. I never imagined that my brother could be, well, so happy. His talents were shown at their very best today. And his softer side has, at long last, seen the light of day.”

“I’m very happy to hear it. Good night, Mycroft.”

“Good night, sir.”


	6. Midnight.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Santa-Lestrade does some match-making. Johnlock. Mention of Molly/Irene. Voyeurism. 
> 
> For the MissDavisWrites' 2019 Advent Calendar Day 15: Midnight.

“It’s insane for me to think of matchmaking at a time like this, and it’s not really matchmaking, just nudging things further along the road that they’re already on. It’s absolutely, none of my business, but...”

Santa-Lestrade fiddled with his teacup and spoon.

“I understand perfectly,” said Mrs. Hudson.

Santa-Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson both considered their Thursday afternoon tea to be a sacrosanct time during which they permitted no work to interfere. No other guests were ever invited, either. They took tea and cakes and, as the saying goes, ‘let down their back hair,’ speaking freely about the triumphs and challenges of the week.

Mrs. Hudson was in charge of the canteen, the living quarters, and all the edible gifts. Hers was no small operation, and she had a wisdom that Santa-Lestrade admired.

“I had the same predicament with Elf-Molly and Irene,” she said.

“Elf-Molly…and Irene?!”

“I know, but, yes. I had inkling of something that was confirmed when, one morning, Irene stopped the server who was en route to deliver Molly’s second helping of porridge and put sultanas on the top…”

“No!” Santa-Lestrade’s face was a mask of incredulity.

“…in the pattern of a smiley face.”

Santa-Lestrade gasped. A more opposite pair he couldn’t imagine. Elf-Molly was the sweetest elf in all elfdom. She was also intelligent, hard-working, and reliable, so he put her in charge of all the dolls and plush toy gifts. She had a genius for teddy bears and fuzzy kittens and adorableness in all shapes and sizes. She was cheerful and soft. She could do wondrous things with ribbon. For goodness’ sake, she wore a pink tunic trimmed with wee yellow daisies!

Irene wore black. All black, all the time. She worked in the kitchen. Santa-Lestrade knew that Mrs. Hudson considered Irene indispensable. Santa-Lestrade also knew that Irene cooked about as well as a reindeer in oven mitts.

Irene was not in charge of food but rather equipment. Knives, hobs, ovens, mallets, graters, forks and spoons. If you could cut, burn, boil, or otherwise maim with it, it fell under her care and responsibility. She made certain everything was in perfect working order.

“They had no contact with each other,” said Mrs. Hudson. “And no real reason to have contact, but I saw that the sultanas had hit their mark with Elf-Molly, so I acted swiftly.”

“What did you do?”

“I sent Irene to the doll shop to sharpen all the scissors.”

“Oh, that’s brilliant!”

Mrs. Hudson smiled. “I thought so. And, well, Elf-Molly gave her a tour, and they got to chatting and the rest, as they say, is history.”

“Huh.” Santa-Lestrade stroked his beard thoughtfully. “I wonder…”

“Yes, think on it,” said Mrs. Hudson. “But in the meantime, more scones?”

“Why not?” said Santa-Lestrade, giving his full-bowl-full-of-jelly belly a rueful glance.

* * *

“So, Sherlock, this assignment is for after Christmas. I absolutely do not want you working on it before then, ok? But it’s been on my min,d and I don’t want to forget in the last-minute rush, and you may want to start working on after I’m…” Santa-Lestrade made a motion in the air. “…aloft.”

Elf-Sherlock nodded. “A case? A cold case?”

“No. It’s in your other line of country: chemistry.”

Elf-Sherlock’s eyes lit. “Science?!”

“Yes.” Santa-Lestrade pulled a jar out of his desk. “It’s come to my attention that mistletoe salve may have some limitations. I want you to cook up in your laboratory an unguent with the same properties, or better, but without a trace of mistletoe or any other allergen. Got it?”

“Oh, yes!”

“And I don’t want to see the final product until it’s been thoroughly tested. No first drafts, yeah? I am not in the business of being someone’s guinea pig.”

“Oh, no!”

“All right. That’s it. Off you go.”

* * *

It was after midnight when Santa-Lestrade crept in the direction of Sherlock’s laboratory. For as large a fellow he was now, he could still sneak about without a sound.

He listened at the door.

“Oh, Sherlock, yeah, oh, fuck, yeah!”

“How would you rate it compared to Samples 3, 2, 1?”

“Better, better, much better! Perfect! Please don’t stop.”

“Why would I stop?”

“Your hands, Sherlock. So beautiful. I love watching them work when you’re on the bench.”

“I know. I caught you staring. Twice.”

“You know everything.”

“I don’t know if you'd like to further test Sample 4’s properties.”

“Where?”

“In a tight orifice?”

“Yeah, c’mere, you. I’ll frig you while I bugger you.”

“Oh, John!”

“Clothes off. I want you naked. Your skin, lovely, your sweet arse, made for buggering.”

“John!”

“How’s Sample 4, Sherlock?”

“Perfect.”

“Let’s try it the other way ‘round next.”

“You, uh, switch?”

“With you, I want it every way possible.”

“Oh, yes, John! I’m, I’m…”

“Yeah, I can feel you tightening. You’re extraordinary. Come for me, gorgeous.”

Cries of pleasure followed.

“Maybe, John, we can take a holiday after Christmas…”

“No, Sherlock.”

“Oh, well, yeah, I mean…”

“Stop. I’d love nothing more, but I’m leaving. My contract ends on Christmas Eve. I’ve got to go back to the army.”

“No! You can’t go now! I’ll talk to Santa.”

“You can try, but I doubt he’ll need extra help in the off season.”

“John…”

“That slick of yours is too good. I’m hard again. Fuck me and frig me, please?”

“Oh, God, yes.”

Santa-Lestrade crept back to his bungalow, smiling.


	7. Chimney.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back from his Christmas journey, Santa-Lestrade catches Elf-Mycroft behind the chimney eating Christmas pudding. Mystrade. Belting. Oral. Anal. Masturbation. Public.
> 
> For MissDavisWrites Advent Calendar Day 11: Chimney.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So from now until the end (probably 3-4 short chapters) it'll be our pairings being late for the feast and then the orgy after the feast.

As was his custom, when Santa-Lestrade returned from his ‘round-the-world journey, he fell into bed and slept. When he woke, he washed and dressed and headed for the Christmas feast.

Along the path to the spotted a few crumbs. They caught his eye because they were the precise shade of the crumbs of Mrs. Hudson’s special Christmas pudding.

Santa-Lestrade followed the crumbs. They led him away from the banquet hall and back toward the bungalows. The trail stopped behind the chimney of one bungalow.

“Mycroft! Come out of there!”

There was the clatter of dish and fork to the ground, and Elf-Mycroft emerged from the shrubbery, his face red.

“I’m so sorry, Santa. I know I should’ve waited for the feast, but it’s my favourite.”

“It was naughty, Mycroft, and naughty elves get punished.”

Elf-Mycroft nodded.

Santa-Lestrade gestured to an area free of shrubbery by the chimney. “Face the wall. Bend over. Tunic up. Tights down. Hands on the stone.”

“Yes, Santa.”

Soon Santa-Lestrade was ogling Elf-Mycroft’s sweet bottom. “How many bites did you eat?”

“Three, sir.”

“All right.” Santa-Lestrade removed the belt from his waist and wrapped one end ‘round his knuckles. “Count.”

WHACK!

“One.”

WHACK!

“Two.”

WHACK!

“Three.”

Santa-Lestrade rubbed Elf-Mycroft’s welted buttocks.

Elf-Mycroft hissed.

Santa-Lestrade rubbed harder until he was kneading the flesh with vigour. He tilted his head and noted that Elf-Mycroft’s lovely prick was hard and leaking.

“Are you a naughty elf, Mycroft?”

“So very naughty,” whimpered Mycroft.

“Such a naughty bottom on such a naughty elf. So greedy, stuffing your mouth with Christmas pudding before the feast. I think you should stuff your mouth with something else. On your knees before me, Mycroft.”

Elf-Mycroft turned and fell to his knees clumsily.

Santa-Lestrade unfastened his trousers.

Without another word, he spread Elf-Mycroft’s lips with his prick. He held the elf’s head while he fucked his mouth.

“Feast on this, naughty elf, a big, fat prick. Is it as sweet as pudding?”

Elf-Mycroft hummed as Santa-Lestrade thrust.

Then Santa-Lestrade heard footsteps behind him. He looked over his shoulder to see Elf-Jim and Sebastian walking towards the stables. They saw him and smirked.

Santa-Lestrade gave them a big grin and waved one hand. “Don’t be late for the feast!” he cried.

They laughed and nodded and hurried on their way.

Then Santa-Lestrade turned his attention back to Elf-Mycroft. “That’s enough,” he said and pulled out. “Go to the wall.”

Santa-Lestrade helped Elf-Mycroft to his feet and steadied the elf as he bent again towards the stone wall of the chimney.

Santa-Lestrade slicked his prick and sank it into Elf-Mycroft’s arse. “Sing for me, Elf-Mycroft.”

“I’m a naughty elf! Behind the chimney eating pudding! Eat too much and I’ll be sick! Need my mouth washed out with prick! Bugger this naughty elf!”

Santa-Lestrade spent himself with a groan. He pulled out and said, “Turn ‘round.”

Elf-Mycroft did.

Santa-Lestrade took Elf-Mycroft’s hand and filled his palm with slick. “Close your eyes. Pull up your tunic. Think about Christmas pudding and frig yourself.”

Elf-Mycroft did and once more Santa-Lestrade was reminded at how gorgeous Elf-Mycroft’s prick was. When Elf-Mycroft had spent, he fell to his knees, crawled towards Santa-Lestrade, and clung to his trouser leg.

Santa-Lestrade reached down and lifted Elf-Mycroft to his feet. He whispered in Elf-Mycroft’s ear.

“How was that for your Christmas wish, my pet?”

_Santa, my Christmas wish is for you to catch me behind the chimney being very naughty, punish me however you wish, then fuck my face and bugger my arse, out in the open, for anyone to see._

“Perfect,” gurgled Elf-Mycroft. “Just perfect.”


	8. Family.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seb and Elf-Jim indulge in a bit of pony (not reindeer!) play in the stables. Anal. Oral. For MissDavisWrites' 2019 Advent Calendar Day 13: family.

“Giddy-up, reindeer! Yah, yah!”

Seb stopped and eased the makeshift bit from his mouth. “Reindeer aren’t horses, Jim. They aren’t even in the same family. You can domesticate some reindeer, and only some, enough to pull a sleigh, but you can’t saddle a reindeer and ride them like a horse.”

“It’s just semantics! Go!” Elf-Jim clapped his heels to Seb’s flanks. Seb returned the bit to his mouth and crawled about the back corner of the stables. “Yah, yah!” Elf-Jim cried.

Seb made two, then, at the snap of the reins, three circles of the small area and then returned at a full gallop to the entrance of the last stall, which was layered with a carpet of clean, sweet-smelling hay. He stopped abruptly, which hurled Elf-Jim off his back and onto the hay, upside-down.

Elf-Jim stared up at him, grinning. “Thank you for my gift, Sebbie. I’ve always wanted to indulge in a bit of reindeer play.”

Seb removed his harness and slipped a hand into his jeans pocket. “Thank you for my gift.” He pulled out a flick knife upon the hilt of which were engraved the words ‘Tiger’ in elegant script.

“I confess it started out life as an order for one of my charges,” said Jim, “but the misguided blighter got religion right before Christmas and was switched to the other list. So, I added some personal embellishments. Hope you’re not offended.”

Seb shook his head. “Not at all. You are a resourceful sod. I like that.”

“And as a resourceful sod, I like a resourceful sodding, which is why I want you to come here and put that reindeer prick in me.”

Elf-Jim was removing his tights and turning and shaking his bare arse at Seb.

“Shh! Don’t call it that. The reindeer can hear you, and they don’t appreciate vulgarity at all.”

“What should I call that huge thing you’re sporting? Donkey prick?”

“That’s fine.”

“It is fine, and it will be even better when it is inside me. Come on, I’m waiting.” Elf-Jim’s tone changed to a whine. “I need you.”

Seb shucked out of his jeans and found a jar of unguent in the other pocket. “You know this new slick that Elf-Sherlock created is quickly becoming my favourite.”

“Don’t talk to me about that blighter!” snarled Elf-Jim. “Just fuck me!”

Very soon, Seb obliged, mounting Elf-Jim and thrusting his well-slicked prick in and out of Elf-Jim’s hole with violent abandon.

“It feels so good, Sebbie, I want to draw it out. Take your time,” said Elf-Jim. “We can be late to the feast.”

Seb grunted but did not slow his thrusting. “Speak for yourself. Not all of us forget to eat. I like my vittles piled high, and the menu sounds spectacular.”

“The feast can’t begin until Santa-Lestrade arrives, and he and Elf-Mycroft will be busy for some time and then he’ll want to clean himself up, which will take more time. Oh, Sebbie, yes! You’re a beast!”

Elf-Jim clutched frantically that the hay as Sebastian slammed his prick into him.

When Seb had spent, he flipped Elf-Jim on his back and sucked him off in no time.

Elf-Jim lay panting on his back. “You know, if you’re keen, there’s an orgy after the feast by the thermal pools.”

Seb’s eyebrows rose. “An orgy?”

“Elves and invited guests only. And Santa, of course.”

“You are a wicked crew.”

“Do you want to go?”

“Oh, yeah.” Seb batted his eyelashes coyly. “If someone asks me.”

“I just did!” Elf-Jim huffed. “Sometimes you’re dumber than a reindeer, Seb!”

Just then, a great glob of spit landed squarely on Elf-Jim’s face. Elf-Jim opened his mouth in frank shock. An antlered creature with an affronted expression was leaning over the wooden partition, glaring at him.

“I told you reindeer and horses weren’t in the same family,” said Seb, cackling. “In one respect, reindeer are more like camels!”

Elf-Jim shot a mean look at the reindeer and was rewarded by another splattering to his face.

“Come on,” said Seb, trying to regain control of himself. “Apologise and let’s get cleaned up and go eat.”

Elf-Jim harrumphed and grumbled, “Sorry, your antlered-ness.”

The reindeer gave a snort.


	9. Baby please come home. (Rating: Teen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sulking Elf-Sherlock gets a surprise. Rating: Teen. For MissDavisWrites' Advent Calendar Day 16: Baby please come home.

“Aren’t you coming to the feast, Sherlock?” asked Mycroft.

Sherlock did not look up from his workbench. He shook his head.

Mycroft sighed. “Maybe when John is given leave from the army, he can return for a visit.”

“Don’t care.”

“Oh, come now. You care quite a bit.”

“’Sentiment is a chemical defect in the losing side.’”

“I am a prat, Sherlock.”

“True. But even a broken clock can be right twice a day.”

“I’ll send a plate.”

Sherlock muttered under his breath, “Just transport.”

* * *

Two hours later, there was a knock at the door.

Sherlock ignored it.

The knock persisted.

“Just leave it outside!”

Then the doorknob turned.

“Oh, you stubborn git—” Sherlock stopped when he saw who was holding the covered plate. “John!”

Elf-John grinned and caught Elf-Sherlock as he threw himself into his arms. Elf-John steered them toward the work bench, where he set the plate down before embracing Elf-Sherlock fully.

They kissed long and hard and then Sherlock pulled away to ask,

“How?”

“After word got to my superiors about the Straker incident and my role in the investigation, a letter from Santa, by the way, helped tremendously on that front, it was decided that there were enough security concerns up here to warrant an indefinite detail.”

“You’re here to stay?”

Elf-John nodded. “I admit that I diminished your role in solving the crime. I wanted them to think I was the best elf for the job.”

“Oh, I don’t care. If it means you can stay, say anything you wish.”

Elf-John brushed Elf-Sherlock’s hair tenderly. “Maybe there will be other mysteries we can solve together, enough to make my bosses think it’s a good idea to keep me here.”

“With Elf-Jim in still residence, and now with a competent partner-in-crime, I anticipate many such incidents.”

“Good.”

They kissed again. It was Elf-John’s turn to pull away.

“Listen, there’s quite the feast going on, and I’m starved.”

“Let’s go. I can have my wicked way with you at the orgy.”

“The what?”

“Haven’t you heard? After the feast, Santa-Lestrade hosts a bit of a free-for-all by the thermal pools. Just elves and their guests. I never usually stay long, just, you know, show a bit of appreciation for Santa-Lestrade and go back to my work, but tonight I have a feeling I will be staying until the very end.”

“And we can…?” John raised an eyebrow.

“Do anything we’d like. With anyone and everyone who is amenable. By Santa-Lestrade’s request, I have prepared a very large amount of my new mistletoe-free slick.”

Elf-Sherlock waved a hand behind him, and Elf-John’s eyes boggled at the huge vats in the corner of the laboratory. “All that?”

Elf-Sherlock nodded. “Water, of course, is not a very good lubricant.”

Elf-John slipped a hand under Elf-Sherlock’s tunic and gave one buttock a squeeze. “I’d better eat heartily, then. I am going to need my strength.”

“I’m so glad you’re here, John.”

“So am I. This place, and you, feel like home.”


	10. And to all a good night.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The after-Christmas-feast orgy. Everybody/everybody.
> 
> Note: if you're a pair-shipping purist, this isn't the chapter for you. It's a free-for-all orgy.
> 
> For MissDavisWrites' 2019 Advent Calendar Day 24: And to all a good night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we end our filthy romp! Thanks to MissDavisWrites for the excellent batch of prompts and to all my gentle pervs who've enjoyed this. Much health and happiness to you in the New Year.

Santa-Lestrade lumbered towards the thermal pools thinking what he always thought after the Christmas feast.

Mrs. Hudson had outdone herself with the foodstuffs again.

As always, Santa-Lestrade was the first one to the pools. He divested himself of his clothes, hanging and stowing them neatly in the stalls in the changing area.

As he surveyed the scene, he nodded his head with approval: the kegs of slick were placed just where he’d indicated.

The water in the pools were of different temperatures. There were showers for rinsing off (as well as other activities) and, in the distance, an area for swimming with a slide and sloping as well as stepped exits.

Santa-Lestrade always began in the hottest pool.

“Ah,” exhaled he as he sunk into the steaming water. His body would begin shrinking in the morning, and by the first of the new year, he’d be back to his usual shape. No more belly like a bowl of jelly. And he’d see Elf-Anderson, the camp barber, in the morning for a haircut and a shave. His hair wasn’t always a snowy white.

Santa-Lestrade gave another sigh of relief. Christmas had been a success once again! That was its own reward.

Tonight, all who had been working so hard could blow off a little steam (among other things), and the off-season would commence. Maintenance, repair, etcetera. But Santa-Lestrade did not want to think about that tonight.

Tonight, beneath a Christmas moon, he’d watch his hard-working team enjoying themselves.

There was a soft cough.

Santa-Lestrade looked over his shoulder and smiled. “Mycroft! Come and sit with me.”

Elf-Mycroft slipped slowly and shyly into the water at an arm’s length from Santa-Lestrade.

“The water not hurting you?”

“Just a bit. And it’s not an unpleasant sensation.”

“Really?” Santa-Lestrade smirked. What a painslut his right-hand was!

“It’s a reminder of earlier.” Elf-Mycroft blushed far pinker than any reaction to the temperature of the water.

Santa-Lestrade smiled. Then he spoke matter-of-factly. “I want you to help me, Mycroft.”

“Oh, yes!” piped up Elf-Mycroft eagerly. “Anything, Santa.”

“This year I want to make certain there isn’t any initial nervousness on the part of anyone. I anticipate at least two attendees who are new to the after-feast party, and they may be surprised. So, why don’t you help me show them just what this is all about?”

“I’d love to. What should I do?”

“Well, I am going to sit here.” Santa-Lestrade pushed himself out of the water and onto the cedar planked edge of the pool. Then he scooted closer to one of the kegs of slick. “I want you to straddle my leg.” He patted his thigh. “And suck one of my nipples and frig me while I finger your hole.”

Elf-Mycroft’s eyes widened.

“That way,” Santa-Lestrade continued evenly, “everyone who arrives will see that the party is well under way and will jump right into things. No hesitation or self-consciousness. And once I’ve spent, I want you to climb atop my belly and fuck my face rather roughly. Make certain you say rather lewd things, too, the more shocking the better. I don’t want anyone to stand on ceremony with me tonight. If they want to pleasure me or be pleasured by me, I want them to feel free to ask or demand or whatever. Understand?”

“Oh, yes.”

“All right, let’s be quick.”

* * *

“…oh, that’s right, frig Santa good, you naughty elf—oh, hello!”

Santa-Lestrade gave a welcoming wave to Elf-Sherlock and Elf-John who arrived holding hands. They waved back and disappeared into the changing area. They remerged a few minutes later, Elf-John carrying Elf-Sherlock, whose legs were wrapped around the other’s waist. They settled near Santa-Lestrade and began to fuck.

The sight, along with Elf-Mycroft’s stroking, made Santa-Lestrade come at once. Then he was being pushed onto his back and saw nothing but Elf-Mycroft’s gorgeous prick.

“Take me in your mouth, you filthy perv,” growled Elf-Mycroft most uncharacteristically. “Choke on it.” He pushed his prick between Santa-Lestrade’s lips. Santa-Lestrade gobbled it down hungrily and stuck another lubed finger up Elf-Mycroft’s arse.

Out of the corner of his eye, Santa-Lestrade saw Elf-Jim arrive with Sebastian. All he could do was hum a greeting, which he thought they returned.

“Suck!” ordered Elf-Mycroft. Santa-Lestrade obeyed, and soon he was swallowing the elf’s bitter seed.

Santa-Lestrade pushed up to sitting and wiped his mouth just as Elf-Molly and Irene appeared.

They were still quite the contrast: the sweet Elf-Molly in a black leather half-corset and carrying a whip and Irene in a pale pink fur-trimmed negligee and holding a long feather.

Elf-Mycroft, looking a bit dazed, shrank back as Elf-Molly and Irene took spots perched on either of Santa-Lestrade’s thighs.

The next few minutes were spent in whole appreciation of breasts. Santa-Lestrade feasted on nipples and fondled soft flesh with as much appetite as he’d shown for the mince pies earlier in the evening. He let them whip him and tickle him in turn, and they let him eat them out then fuck them. Then they each gave him a sweet peck on each cheek before scampering off to a cooler pool.

“Santa?”

Santa-Lestrade smiled and reached out an arm, and Elf-Mycroft climbed back to his former position on Santa-Lestrade’s thigh. He buried his face in the crook of Santa-Lestrade’s neck and babbled,

“I need you to fuck me, Santa. Oh, please. Fuck me all night…”

Santa-Lestrade fondled him absentmindedly, his attention mostly on Sebastian, who had been swimming laps in the far end of the pool. He and Elf-Jim were engaged in a playful splashing contest, which turned into rough buggering on the sloped exit, Sebastian pummeling Elf-Jim from behind.

Sebastian was one sexy beast!

Santa-Lestrade hummed. Elf-Mycroft echoed the hum.

Santa-Lestrade looked down and discovered that he was sodding Elf-Mycroft with three fingers while the elf frigged himself. Santa-Lestrade used his other hand to rub Elf-Mycroft’s perineum.

“Oh, Santa, yes! My sweet spot!”

Santa-Lestrade’s gaze drifted to a triangle of pussy-eating elves, Elf-Sally, Elf-Stella, and Elf-Anthea; they were all reaching orgasm at the same time, and their collective cries were rising above the other moans and groans and squeals.

It was making him hard.

Santa-Lestrade batted Elf-Mycroft’s hand away, taking the elf’s prick in his own hand and jerking him off himself.

When an even-more-dazed Elf-Mycroft had been safely tucked into a nice comfortable nest of blankets beside the pool, Santa-Lestrade beckoned to Elf-John and Elf-Sherlock.

“Thank you for helping to bring him home,” said Elf-Sherlock.

“My pleasure,” said Santa-Lestrade, beaming with satisfaction at the reunion. “And I wouldn’t mind a bit more pleasure.” He gestured to his hard prick.

Elf-Sherlock fell on him at once.

“He’s so good, isn’t he?” said Elf-John, watching.

“Yes,” said Santa-Lestrade just before shooting his load down Elf-Sherlock’s throat. “It’s a pleasure to have you back, Elf-John.”

“Thank you,” said Elf-John with a smirk. He grabbed his stiff prick. “Think you can help me out with this?”

“Oh, yes,” said Santa-Lestrade. He moved onto all fours.

He sucked Elf-John’s prick while Elf-Sherlock fucked his hole, but before they came, they pulled out and switched places.

Santa-Lestrade barely had time to swallow Elf-Sherlock’s seed and give a weak wave of acknowledgement to their ‘Thanks, Santa!’ when another elf prick was being thrust between his lips and a decidedly-not-elfish prick was being thrust into his hole. He let himself be fucked then sat back and looked up, from Elf-Jim to Sebastian, who were both grinning.

“Bury the hatchet with Sherlock for one night, Jim.”

Elf-Jim’s eyes twinkled.

Santa-Lestrade huffed and amended, “But don’t bury the hatchet in his head!”

Elf-Jim’s face fell, and he pouted.

“Jim.”

“All right.”

“Seb, stay with me for a moment.”

“Sure.”

Santa-Lestrade was soon crawling all over Seb’s body, kissing, sucking, licking. “Jim’s a lucky elf,” he muttered.

Sebastian hummed. “But I’m a free agent. Whenever you want to grab a pint—and more—let me know.”

Santa-Lestrade groaned. Soon, they were both hard again, and they wrapped slicked hands around their joined pricks and stroked them and slid them side-by-side until they came.

“Go,” said Santa-Lestrade. “Make sure Jim behaves tonight.”

“Yes, sir.”

Soon, Santa-Lestrade was watching Irene giving instructions in whipping to Elf-Jim by a bound and gagged Elf-Sherlock while Elf-John and Sebastian were some distance away. Sebastian was showing off his new knife to Elf-John, who was admiring it and sharing some stories from his time in the army.

With the addition of Elf-Molly, the pussy-eating triangle had been renewed as a square.

Santa-Lestrade felt a tongue licking curiously at his hole.

He glanced behind him.

“Mycroft?”

The reply was an affirmative squeak.

“Arse chain!” cried Santa-Lestrade.

Soon, Santa-Lestrade’s face was pressed into a crack, and he was licking for all he was worth. He didn’t know whose it was, but he saw the chain taking on new links and stretching ‘round the pool.

He licked and licked and licked and thought,

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night, indeed!


	11. Jab. (Mystrade. Oral. Cock warming.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elf Mycroft is in charge of the North Pole vaccination campaign. Santa Lestrade/Elf Mycroft. Oral. Cock warming. Sleep sex.
> 
> The first 100 words was written for the DW Advent Drabbles Day 03 prompt: a photo of Santa getting a shot. The rest was written for Miss Davis Advent Calendar Day 03: Chilly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, Yuletide pervs! I wasn't planning on returning to this AU but I got a prompt that led me down this path. I have no plans for more but you never know. It depends on the prompts and the muse.

“When you said you were going to give me just what I needed,” began Santa Lestrade.

Elf Mycroft hummed, his back to Santa.

“Something that would sting a at first but in the end would be very good for me,” continued Santa Lestrade, “this is not what I had in mind.”

Elf Mycroft turned with the hypodermic syringe in hand. “It’s just a little jab, Santa.”

Santa Lestrade harrumphed and rolled up his sleeve.

“Don’t worry,” said Elf Mycroft as he brought the needle close to Santa Lestrade’s bare arm. “You’ll get a lolly afterwards.”

“My favourite flavour?”

“Of course.”

* * *

“Come in,” called Santa Lestrade, many hours later. “Oh, my dear elf,” he exclaimed when Elf Mycroft entered the room and shut the door behind him. “You look exhausted.”

Elf Mycroft smiled a tired smile. “The day was long but not without its satisfaction.”

“I’ll say! You and your team vaccinated the whole camp! We owe you our lives.”

“I also got to stick a very sharp object into my brother,” said Elf Mycroft with a smirk.

Santa Lestrade chuckled, then said in a husky voice, “Come here. On my knee.”

Elf Mycroft did as bid and sat perched on Santa Lestrade’s thigh while Santa sat on the edge of the bed.

Santa Lestrade slipped his hands under Elf Mycroft’s tunic and began to massage Elf Mycroft’s back.

“Let’s see if we can't unknot some of these muscles.”

Soon Elf Mycroft was moaning softly.

Santa Lestrade kneaded Elf Mycroft’s shoulders and kissed Elf Mycroft’s neck. Then he ran both hands down to Elf Mycroft’s arse and eased the green tights down.

“I was promised a lolly earlier for being so brave about my shot,” he murmured as he fondled Elf Mycroft’s balls and lightly stroked his elf prick. “I’d like a red one, please. Hard and, oh,” he felt the pre-come and smeared it all over the head, “sticky.” 

“Oh, Santa!” groaned Elf Mycroft. “Please!”

“Use your words, elf,” teased Santa. “What do you want?”

Clumsily, Elf Mycroft stood and turned to face Santa. He lifted his tunic, showing off his hard, leaking pricklet, his legs hobbled at the knees by the tights.

“Suck my lolly, Santa!” he whined.

Santa Lestrade grinned wolfishly, then scooped Elf Mycroft up and dropped him unceremonially on the bed. Then he pounced on the elf, keeping his massive weight on his arms, and swallowed the diminutive prick.

It didn’t take long.

A few bobs, a few sucks, and Elf Mycroft was spending down Santa’s throat.

Elf Mycroft looked up through half-lidded eyes and extended a pathetic hand in the direction of Santa’s belt.

“No, you need to rest, my dear.”

Elf Mycroft whimpered in protest and let his head loll. His expression was one of abject disappointment.

Santa Lestrade tut-tutted. “None of that.” He shivered in an exaggerated manner. “It’s a chilly night, isn’t it?”

Elf Mycroft frowned and gave a slight shrug. “It’s the North Pole.”

“I think I might need a hot water bottle in my bed tonight.” Santa Lestrade made a show of looking about him. “But I can’t seem to find one.”

“Oh.” Elf Mycroft’s eyes widened. Then he asked very politely, “Santa, might I serve as your hot water bottle tonight?”

“What an excellent idea!”

Elf Mycroft smiled. Then Santa Lestrade scooped him up in his arms a second time, this time carrying him round the bed, stripping him naked, and tucking him in.

Santa Lestrade woke a few hours later to warmth, specifically a warm mouth suckling his prick.

He hummed and said quietly, “My hot water bottle is perfect.” Then he rolled on his back. The mouth moved with him.

Santa Lestrade watched the bedclothes rise and fall. He spread his legs and lifted his hips a little, allowing two hands to caress every part of him, creases, balls, perineum, rim. “So good, so good,” he crooned and petted the head until he spent.

Then he said quickly, “I want my hot water bottle to stay just where it is, keeping my prick warm until I say otherwise. No sucking, just holding, just keeping it nice and warm. I’m going back to sleep, understand? And whenever I wake up, I’d better feel that sweet little water bottle on me.”

The reply was a grunt and the nuzzle of a nose to Santa Lestrade’s crotch.

Santa Lestrade enjoyed two spates of filthy, orgiastic dreams. He woke twice, his prick stiff as a board and aching each time, and each time he fucked the mouth which held him a little harder.

After the second time, Santa Lestrade threw off the bedclothes and pinned Elf Mycroft to the bed. He rimmed his little elf ferociously, then flipped him over and sucked him off. Then they dozed naked, twined together, until the alarm clock rang at dawn.


	12. Idle Hands/Jolly. (MorMor. Gen.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Title:** Idle Hands  
>  **Rating:** Gen  
>  **Character/Pairing:** Santa-Lestrade; Elf-Jim/Sebastian Moran the reindeer groom.  
>  **Notes:** Fluff  
>  **Length:** 450  
>  **For:** Miss Davis Writes Advent Calendar Day 15: jolly and DW Advent Drabbles [Day 19](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21806749/chapters/52510969): Elves being naughty.  
>  **Summary:** Santa-Lestrade solves the problem of a bored Elf-Jim.

Santa-Lestrade stroked his beard thoughtfully and read the report.

“Sneezing powder, itching powder, and, of course, farting powder. All in one day! Why am I not surprised? You completed your list of toys for all the naughty children of the world yesterday.”

Elf-Jim shrugged and studied his slippers.

“There will be last minute requests, of course, but in the meantime, I’m re-assigning you to the stables.”

Elf-Jim’s head lifted.

“And, yes, Seb’s back. But it’s not all fun and reindeer games. I expect a full day’s work, understand? What you do with your nights, well, that’s your business.”

“Yes, sir!”

* * *

“I’m not a ‘jolly ol’ elf’!” sighed Elf-Jim as he let his tired head drop onto Seb’s broad chest.

“Who says you have to be?” replied Seb quietly.

Jim huffed. “Everyone else is.”

“Since when have you cared what everyone else is?”

“True.”

“You’re just worn out, talking rot.” Seb petted Elf-Jim’s hair affectionately. Elf-Jim’s petite body was extended along the front of Seb with arms and legs dangling as if Seb were a log. They were tucked snugly together in Seb’s bunk in the grooms’ quarters. “Go to sleep. We’ll be up early tomorrow.”

“But I wanted to have sex!” Elf-Jim wailed.

“You did a full of day of very hard labour, Jim. You can barely keep your eyes open. I’m completely knackered myself. We’re in the busiest days of the year. The animals have to be in top condition for Christmas. There’ll be time. I promise at the post-Christmas soiree, you’ll be the jolliest elf in this whole blessed place.”

Elf-Jim rolled his head toward Seb and cracked one eye. “Yeah?”

Seb put his hand to his heart and yawned. “I missed you, you know? I meet a lot of people, but there’s no one like you.”

“Stupid compulsory military service,” grumbled Elf-Jim. He scooted higher up Seb’s chest so that when his head flopped again, his ear was right over Seb’s ticker. He sighed contentedly and closed his eyes.

“I’m still working on that puzzle you gave me.” Seb glanced fondly at the little wooden box with its interlocking parts. “I like it. Reminds me of you.”

Elf-Jim hummed. “Not jolly then.”

“Fascinating and a bit out my league intellectually. You held your own today, worked as hard as any groom. What’s more, you helped us when we were totally stuck, re-figuring the new feeding schedule in, like, seconds. It was amazing.”

“Maths,” said Elf-Jim in a fading voice.

Seb smiled as he reached to put out the lamp. Then he drew up the blanket so that it covered his lover’s pointy ears.

Seb snuggled down into the hay and thought it was nice to be home. 


	13. Yule Log/Let nothing you dismay (Rating: Teen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elf-Mycroft is having a difficult time getting the Yule log to camp. Rating: Teen. Mystrade. Mention of Johnlock, Mollrene, and Mormor.
> 
> This is for the DW Advent Drabbles: Day 26: Yule Log (the photo is of the cake) and Miss Davis Writes Advent Calendar Day 17: Let nothing you dismay.

“Mycroft, what’s wrong?”

Elf-Mycroft sighed. He looked sweaty and disheveled and his clipboard was nowhere to be seen. Santa-Lestrade was no detective, but even he knew something was up.

“The Yule log was the last item on my list.”

“And?”

“And I decided to ask Sherlock and John to go to the forest and select an appropriate specimen.”

Santa-Lestrade smiled.

“And, well, Sherlock selected one, and John began to cut it. While John was cutting it, Sherlock went to investigate something and got sprayed by a skunk.”

Santa-Lestrade laughed.

“So,” Elf-Mycroft twisted his lips peevishly, “after waiting and waiting, I finally found them in the thermal pools.”

“Washing off the stink?”

“I’m certain that’s what they were doing in the beginning, but by the time I located them, they were doing other things.”

Santa-Lestrade harrumphed. “Okay. So what did you do next?”

“The next elf I saw was Molly. I entrusted the task to her.” Elf-Mycroft twisted his lips again.

“But?”

“She didn’t understand my instructions, and, rather than ask for clarification, she decided to go her own way, which was to Irene in the kitchen.”

“And?”

“And they made a wonderful bûche de Noël!”

“The cake, you mean?”

“Yes! I wanted a log for the fire, not a cake! But they worked very hard on it according to Mrs. Hudson. When I found Irene and Molly, they were in the thermal pools, ah, washing off the excess icing and powdered sugar.”

“I see.”

“Then I tasked Jim with going to the forest, finishing the chopping that John had started, and hauling the log back to camp.”

“And?”

“And he took Sebastian Moran the groom with him, and hours later, I went to find them, and they were…”

“Let me guess. In the thermal pools?”

“Yes, apparently they just got ‘too hot and sweaty’ dragging the log back to camp so they stopped and skipped off to pools while leaving the job half-done!”

“And so you ended up doing it yourself, didn’t you? Delegation is not easy, Mycroft. Why didn’t you come to me? I would’ve helped you.”

“Well, uh…”

Santa-Lestrade laughed. “How far did you get it?”

“A few hundred feet,” said Elf-Mycroft sheepishly. “Could you help me get it the rest of the way to the pit?”

“Of course, but I’m going to insist that afterwards we go to the thermal pools.”

Elf-Mycroft blushed. “Well, if you insist.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
